More Than Flames
by Taineyah
Summary: There's more to fire than flames and more to Pyro than insanity. Chapter 3: Fire and Sorcery (You figure it out!) JONDA!
1. More Than Flames

When I work with a character, even in passing, I  make it a point to get into their head.  I have to know what they'd think in just about any situation, or I simply avoid using them.  One character I've had trouble with is Pyro.  St. John Allerdyce is, for some reaeson, very difficult to understand.  You very rarely see him really look inside himself.  I'm sorry if that statement offends anybody, but I think that there is more to Pyro than everyone gives him credit for.  And I think that there is more to his powers and fire than just the flames he controls.

Disclaimer: Tainz does not own St. John Allerdyce, but she wishes she did so she could give him to her best friend Amieva, to whom this fic is dedicated.

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More Than Flames

                There is smoke all around me, remnants of the fire that I controlled just a few moments ago.  The fire that died. The fire I used to help protect you.  Smouldering debris remains and I could restart the fire from the embers, but it isn't worth it to watch it go out again when the fire department comes back.  The smoke and steam are hot, but not like fire.  They can't hurt me from the outside.  They're only dangerous if I breathe them in.  You're already out of sight, off on your own mission.  You never even stopped to wonder where the fire came from.  You just saw that it was helping you and continued on your way.

                I'd like to say that I am like the flames.  That my strength is as great as the fuel I am given and that I can destroy nearly anything.  I'm not.  I'm more like the smoke that lingers around me.  You can see me and I can hurt you, but you can't feel me touch you.  I'm a passing heat that will dissappear with the breeze.  

                I'm sure you've decided that I am dangerous.  I'm sure you've been told that I'm crazy or evil.  Maybe it's true, but I'm not sure.  I know that I can hurt you, or anyone else if I so desire, but in that I'm only human.  

                I'm only human?  I am a mutant, homo superior.  I will inherit the earth one day, or my children will, once the flatscans are gone.  But true as that may be, I still have the same hopes and fears as the flatscans.

                Maybe you didn't know this, love, but I'm a published novelist.  Pretty good for an eighteen year old Aussie, huh?  I actually write romance novels about flatscans.  I get decent praise for it, too.  The heroes in my stories are strong, like my flames.  Like fire has water though, they have a weakness.  Usually, it's the girl of their dreams.  I wish I could be like them.  They know what to tell the girls they want and they always win in the end.

                I'm not like that.  I only know what to tell my fire, not the girls.  I speak to it, and it listens to me.  No matter what I say, though, it will never talk back and tell me what I need to hear.  The smoke tells me more.  It chokes me up so I can't talk.  It tells me to shut my mouth and listen.  The smoke hides me when the fire's gone.  It doesn't listen to me and, though I listen to it, I can't hear what it's trying to show me.

                Sometimes I think I hear something in the hissing and sizzling of the water as the fire is drowned.  I don't know what it says, but I know it wants me to find out.  I'm sure it's imagination, just me looking for something.  Just an extension of my own mind, trying to come forth.  I'm not crazy.  I'm pyromaniac, but that's not craziness.  That's just how my powers made me.  I don't actually hear voices or any of that.  I wish I did, though.  It might explain to me who I am and what I need.

                Everyone thinks I'm insane because of how much I love fire.  I'm not.  I'm just lonely.  I've been lonely so long.  It's all I have.

                My parents were terrified of me, you know.  When they first saw what I could do.  My powers are pretty easy to hide and I'd had them for awhile.  I got bored one night while my dad and I were cooking steaks on the barbie and I made the flames form a bird.  I didn't think about what I was doing.  I just held out my hand and a bird flew up from the barbie.  I thought my dad had his back turned to me.  I thought wrong.  He screamed and I lost control of my little bird.  It hit a bush by the back of our house and I didn't know how to use my powers to put fire out yet.  We lost three rooms of our house completely.

                We didn't know that I was a mutant, of course.  My parents thought it was witchcraft of some sort.  They were always a bit superstitious, but my powers made them more so.  They were terrified of me.  I lived with them for a month after the fire.  I wasn't even sixteen yet when they threw me out.

                I had no money and nowhere to go.  I managed to scrape together enough money to survive by busking.  I could juggle fireballs, no problems.  If I didn't give them too much detail, I could even make fire sculptures without anyone thinking I was some kind of demon or sorcerer.  That's where I learned how to do my horses, you know.

                I'd been out on the streets nearly a year when Mags came and found me.  He offered me a place in the outback to train and live until I could do anything with fire, even put it out.  It's lonely in the outback.  The only company I had was my fire.  When I'd learned, he brought me to America.  He gave me another home with enough food and new clothes.  He taught me what I was and what our destiny is.  If it had been Xavier who'd found me first, do you think I'd be who I am?  It'd be interesting to see.

                I wonder what you see when you look at me.  Do you see me as anything more than one of Magneto's lackeys?  Sometimes I think that title defines me.  Powerful enough to be worriesome and have my own weapons, but too weak to be my own person.  I'll never be the one you see as dangerous.  I'm only smoke, not the flames.  No one ever thinks about how dangerous the smoke is.  It kills more people than the fire does, but the fire hurts more.

                Maybe that's where my strength lies.  The fact that no one sees me as truly dangerous.  Everyone thinks that I'm helpless the moment you cut off my flamethrowers.  I'm not.  I can fight nearly as well as Gambit, but I've grown so dependant on my fire that I sometimes forget that.

                Have you ever wondered about me?  Will you ever wonder about me?  Do you even notice me?  You're so beautiful and so angry.  You're not like that girl Gambit wants, Rogue.  You don't want to keep everyone away, only your family.  I can respect that.

                I wish you'd come back and see me here.  I know you have things to do with your life, but I wish you realised that I was the one that saved you just now.  Those police officers would have had you in an instant, had I not come along.  Well, maybe not.  But you would have had a fight on your hands.  I kept you from having to do that.

                I just want someone to talk to.  Here I am, standing in the rising smoke, talking to you in my head.  It's the only way I ever get to talk to you.  I'm the only one who takes me seriously, aside from my publishers.  But my publishers have never met me.  You have, in passing.  I wish you could look at me and love me like I love you.

                I do love you.  I'm just too scared to say it.

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I don't know if I captured his character very well.  I just thought there had to be a reason as to why he's so obsessed with fire and I had a request from my best friend to do some Jonda.  Although I never said it directly, Wanda's the girl I was picturing him thinking about when I wrote this.  I suspect there will be a second chapter from Wanda's perspective, if you want it.

Please review!!!!!!!!!!

Love,

Tainz


	2. Beating the Odds

Hey all!  I had just planned for this to be a one shot, but here's a second chapter by popular demand and I'm going to have one last chapter.  

This is from Wanda's perspective.

Nicodemus: Tainz owns nothing you recognise!!!

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Beating the Odds

                I was just saved by a huge fire.  The police were chasing me and I was throwing hexbolts at them, but I don't think I started the fire.  The cops want to take me back to the asylum.  I won't go back.  The fact that I got out once beat the odds.  I'd never make it out again.

                I know you were there.  You're the only one who could make a fire grow that quickly.  I stuck around until the fire engines came, you know.  I wanted you to come out so I could talk to you.  Of course, we both know that you never did.  You never talk to me.  You'll have the waiters at Starbucks send me a cafe mocha and then you leave the store.  You'll make a tiny sculpture of something out of fire, so only I can see it, then you disappear.

                I've only ever heard you laugh.  It's an insane laugh, but I know you're not crazy.  I spent enough time with crazy people to know that you're not.  What does your voice sound like?  I heard someone say you're from Australia.  Is that true?

                You're good at not getting followed when you don't want to be.  I mean, I'll go after you to thank you for the coffee or try to follow you back to Magneto, and you'll be gone.  Do you follow me because he sends you, or is it just something you want to do?  You leave me with so many questions.  I want you to stop following me and actually come and see me.

                What kinds of things do you like?  Where did you grow up?  How old are you?  What do you like to do?  What's your real name?  Those things interest me about everyone, because I didn't know people could be so different, back when I was in the asylum.  When it comes to you, they're doubly interesting.

                Do you know what Magneto did to me?  I think that maybe if I told you, you wouldn't work for him anymore.  You'd come and kiss me.  What?  I did not just think that.  I didn't.  I am the Scarlet Witch.  I don't need anyone and I don't want anything to do with people.  What am I thinking?!?

                I have to find Magneto and make him pay.  I can't fall for one of his stupid lackeys!  I can't let you get to me!  

                But it's too late, isn't it?  I wouldn't even be thinking about you if you hadn't already gotten to me.  Do you even care back, or is all this just a cruel trick?  Magneto probably pays you to follow me and try to make me lose my focus.  

                Who are you, Pyro?  I wish I understood you better.  If you feel safe enough to follow me and you aren't too shy to show off to me, why can't you talk to me?  Did you know that no one really talks to me?  The most I ever get out of anyone is "I'm going to the store, do you need anything?"  or "Omigod!  Don't let her kill me!" or "Hi cuddlebumps."  

                If you do care about me, please come and rescue me.  I went to the library and came across this book the other day.  It was by this new author, St. John Allerdyce.  Have you ever heard of him?  Probably not.  He writes romance.  Anyway, he wrote this beautiful story about a guy who fell in love with this girl.  Thing was, the girl was actually a sorceress and he was worried that she might cast a spell on him.  One day, they met in the market and she fell in love with him.  Then her evil father tried to kill them both, but they defeated him and they got to live happily ever after.

                I wish real life were like that.  I wish you would come and rescue me and help me.  I know you won't, but it doesn't stop me from wishing it.

                You want to know a secret?  I hate my powers.  They got me locked away and they make everyone, except that creepy little frog-boy, stay away from me.  I want someone real to not be afraid.  

                I want you to not be afraid.  I want you to come right now, and take me to wherever Magneto is and then we can kill him together and I'll be free.  You'll be free too.  He won't be able to give you orders or anything ever again.  Why didn't you cone out of that building and see me?  Why?  

                Please, don't be scared of me.  I want you to love me.

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After spending years in an institution, I figure that Wanda's mind would be a bit disjointed.  I hope that you enjoyed this and I hope it seemed real.

Love,

Tainz


	3. Flames and Sorcery

Here it is, the long awaited finale to _More than Flames._ I'm not very good at romance I'm afraid, but I think it turned out okay. This chapter is dedicated to Stacey in light of her birthday!! Happy 19th birthday!!!!!!

Nicodemus the Disclaimer: So... that's why you made me wear this dumb, pointy hat... shrugs Anyway, Taineyah does not own Wanda, Toad or Sinjin... What's a Sinjin...?

Taineyah: It's how Johnny pronounces his hame, doofus.

Nicodemus: rips off hat I'm not a doofus. Anyway, happy birthday Stacey!! Enjoy.

Flames and Magic

Hands shaking, St. John Allerdyce picked his recently published novel up off of the library shelf. Had anyone read it? Or had it just sat there and gathered dust, as he'd feared it might. Holding his breath, he flipped the book over to where the due dates got stamped on a sticker on the back. Three people had taken it out, the most recent having brought it back only the day before.

He let out his breath. He wanted to dance around and hoot, but he caught himself. That was not good library behaviour. He didn't want to be kicked out again. He wondered who had read the book, and what they'd thought of it. He looked at the front cover. The artwork was good. The artist had followed the concept art that John had had Piotr draw and the dark haired sorceress was surrounded by blue flames, her red-headed hero standing behind her with his arms protectively sheltering her from the sinister figure in the lower corner.

Finally, a thought occurred to Pyro. Maybe he could convince the librarian to look up the book on her computer and see who'd read it. It was worth a shot, at the least. Maybe he could find someone to talk to about his book and other story ideas he had.

He headed down the stairs to the information desk. The old librarian, the one who kept kicking him out, wasn't there, which explained why he was still in the building. He had full control over his fire and flicking his lighter couldn't possibly harm the books, whatever she said. It was the younger one on duty today, the one who giggled. Personally, St. John hated gigglers, but he might be able to use it to his advantage. He strode confidently, at least he hoped it was confidently, to the desk.

"Excuse me miss," he said, catching the librarian's attention. Bethany, that was her name, he remembered. She had a strange infatuation with his voice.

She giggled as she turned to him. "What can I do for you today, Johnny?"

He hated being called Johnny, but he grinned anyway. "I was wondering if you could help me find out who's taken out this book."

"Oh, I can't look it up, but I can tell you that I did. It's so beautiful. Are you interested in reading it? It's all about--"

"Bethany, I don't have to read it. I wrote it. I just wanted to see who's been reading my work is all." He hoped that his smile was charming and not murderous.

A tittering laugh emanated from her lips. "Oh Johnny, there's no way you wrote this. It's all about true love. I've never even seen you with a girl!"

So the girl'd been watching him. Charming. "Think about it, love. What's the name on my library card?"

"John Michael Allerdyce," she replied promptly, clearly having committed his vital statistics to memory. "But the man who wrote this is _St._ John Allerdyce."

The stupidity of flatscans never ceased to amaze St. John. This one seemed particularly stupid. "If you were a boy and your mother had had the stupid notion to name you Saint _anything_ do you really think you'd own up to it in your regular life? The other boys made fun of me when I was a tyke, so I stopped using it."

She tilted her head to one side, thinking. He did have a point and he was cute. Maybe she could make an exception, just for him. Yes, she could do that, as long as she didn't tell him any addresses.

"Okay," she giggled, taking the book from him. "I won't give you anything except their names or I'll get in really big trouble and lose my job."

"We can dream," John muttered.

"What was that?" She looked up from her computer screen.

"That'd be like a bad dream," he said more loudly.

A few keystrokes later, she had the names in front of her. "Alrighty then... I was the first one to take it out. Bethany Hathaway. If you want, I can give you _my_ number..."

John managed not to grimace. "It's quite alright."

She tittered again. "Maybe some other time. The next was Robert Kelly..."

John did grimace. Maybe he should let slip to the presses that St. John Allerdyce was a mutant... At least then the likes of Kelly would keep their bloody hands off his material! Two of the three people down so far and still no one he dared even think about talking to.

"And the last one is Wanda Maximoff. She brought it back yesterday. I think I'm going to take it out again..."

Bethany continued to ramble on, but St. John didn't hear any of it after "Wanda Maximoff." Wanda, the inspiration for his dark, angry sorceress, Mirala... She'd read his book. She'd read it. He did dance and holler this time and Bethany hushed him. She told him that the other librarian was only on her lunch and she'd be mad if she came in and "Johnny" was causing a ruckus again.

John walked dazedly out of the library. Wanda had read it. Had she liked it? His stomach churned as his heart sang. What if she'd recognised herself in it? Would she be angry? Everything seemed to make her angry.

He headed in the general direction of the Brotherhood Boarding House, not sure what he'd do when he got there. On his way, he spotted a book store. He stepped inside and there was a display rack with his book on it. Unthinkingly, he picked up a copy and headed to the register. There were pens for sale there and he chose an orange gel pen. He paid for his purchases, then went out front and sat down on a park bench across the street.

Gently, he opened the hardcover edition of his book. He smoothed out the black end page, contemplating his words. They had to be perfect. He could speak to her on paper, just as he did in his thoughts, even if he couldn't say a word to her in person. After a few long moments, he touched the pen to the paper.

_Wanda,_

_ I wrote this book for you, my dark sorceress. You stole my heart with your magic and so I wrote Mirala and her hero as I wish we can be. If you don't return my feelings, I will understand and I will try to move on, despite the pain it will cause me. I wanted you to know how I feel, even though I haven't words enough to tell you. _

_Love always,_

_St. John Allerdyce_

His hands shook as he recapped his pen. Had that been over the top? Yes, perhaps even cheesy, but it was in ink--he couldn't change it. How would she react when he gave it to her? Would she hex him? Or... No, he didn't dare even think about that possibility. There was no way it could happen.

He stood nervously and started back on his path towards the Brotherhood Boarding House.

Wanda Maximoff sat on the couch, grimacing at the television. She wasn't really interested in the true crime show that was blaring out, but if she took her eyes off of it for an instant, Todd would be all over her. She hated the little slimeball. One day she was going to hex his bad petnames uttering mouth permanently shut. Not today, though. She was in a somewhat charitable mood. She'd thought up a new way to kill her father.

There was a knock at the door and she turned her head, acknowedging the sound but unsure as to whether she should answer the door or not. Normally one of the boys did it, but she and Todd were the only ones home and he hated answering the door. Something about a glowing curtain and a Cajun or something.

The knocking sounded again and Todd had seemingly disappeared. Sighing, she went to the door, ready to kill whoever was interrupting her quiet afternoon. She flung it open, half expecting it to be her idiot twin. He kept forgetting his keys. Obviously, she'd gotten all the brains available at the time they were born.

She had her mouth open to yell at him when she saw who was there. It wasn't Pietro. It was someone she actually wanted to see, whether she'd ever admit it to someone or not. It was Pyro, her father's orange-haired lackey.

She stood there in silence, not knowing what to say. Should she threaten him? Should she ask his name? Should she close the door in his face? What did one do in a situation like this?

"Ummm.... Hi, Wanda," Pyro muttered nervously, looking at his feet. "This is for you."

He thrust a copy of her favourite book into her hands. How had he known? Was he a telepath like Xavier? What was going on?

"Thanks..." Just to be doing something, she opened up the front cover. The bright writing on the plain black paper caught her eye. As she scanned the inscription, her eyes grew wide. "You're... You're St. John Allerdyce?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but knowing that he was failing miserably. "Guilty as charged."

She blinked. "You've been following me for ages haven't..." She glanced back down at the note. "You wrote about me?" She was flattered.

"They say to write what you know... I knew what it was like to love the dark sorceress from afar." He dragged his toe across the welcome mat, not daring to look at her.

"And... That means... You... You love me?" Her mind was racing. Was her daydream coming true? Could he possibly love her?

He chanced a glance at her. She didn't _look_ angry. More awestruck. He nodded, tongue-tied.

_Say something, say something, say something,_ Pyro told himself. _If you don't, you'll lose her._

He took her hand gently in his, carressing it and protecting it all at the same time. "Do you like it?"

She took a steadying breath. No one had ever touched her like that before. Her heart was racing and there was a pleasant twisting feeling in her stomach. She nodded.

"It was beautiful."

He smiled nervously and she loved the way the corner of his lip quivered.

_ Oh god_, Wanda thought _ What am I supposed to do now?_

He kissed her hand, brushing it ever so softly with his lips, happy that she wasn't resisting.

_Maybe she's in shock. _The thought occurred to him and his head spun. _Maybe I shouldn't be doing this_.

She stared at him wide-eyed as he gazed at her with orbs of cerulean blue. Damn her years in the asylum. She didn't know how she was supposed to respond. Wait... She'd seen this on tv once. What had the girl done? It had been a soap opera. She thought hard for a second before she remembered. There was no way she could do that! She couldn't say "I'm sorry, but I can't love you because I'm pregnant with my sister's husband's baby."

John started to release her hand. He'd been wrong. He'd made a fool of himself. She'd send him away now for sure.

_Think Wanda, Think. He'll leave. You don't want him to leave! _ What else did people on tv do? _Oh yeah..._

Wanda tilted her face up towards his and slowly leaned in.

He watched as her eyes slid shut, then he closed his own and bent to meet her lips.

Wanda's eyes opened in shock. No wonder television characters seemed to enjoy this. It felt good! She molded her body gently against his as she felt his tongue prodding her lips, as though asking permission to enter.

_What are you doing you idiot? _John asked himself. _You aren't Frenchie! You don't stick your tongue in her mouth the first_- His thought was cut off when her lips parted to let him explore her mouth.

They held each other and the book toppled from Wanda's hand to the ground, the treasure forgotten in light of this new kind of wonder. Finally, they broke apart with a soft new kind of understanding dancing in their hearts. Wanda knew he wasn't fooling around with her and John knew she could never hate him.

John gulped, then opened his mouth. "Do you want to go for a walk or to get some coffee or something?"

She nodded once, slowly. "Maybe in a few minutes, but first..."

She pressed her lips to his again.

Thoughts, suggestions? Flames?? dreamy look Fire pretty....

Love,

Tainz


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